The day began with more sitting shivering and huddled. I was dreaming of an MCG fitted with urns of green tea or of having thought to bring a flask of hot go go go go go milo (if only my flat had some of the advertising that is everywhere at the G I might have thought of it). The contest this morning was between the ground staff administering to the covers and the intermittent showers. The showers were executing their drops with a precision of timing that, though undoubtedly prodigious, quickly became very annoying. The groundsmen would just get the covers off and folded and onto the tractor, the stumps would be driven in and the umpires would be waiting on the boundary to come onto the ground and get play underway, when the next shower would start to fall. The groundsmen would wrestle the covers back into position again, the wind fighting them hard all the way – the big white plastic sheet would take to the air like a big kite and then collapse on itself in a frenzy of uncoordinated folding that the groundsmen would have to try and smooth out once more. Just when everything was in place the rain would cease and the sun would shine. This just went on and on, off and off, it was like some sort of binary message. Kind of exciting too.

The thing about cricket is that it will always reward (though no reward is necessary for cricket has given me so much already) one for one’s generous dedication to it. My reward came in today, big time. A Martyn century, a Dizzy-Marto partnership, a Dizzy 50. It couldn’t have been better, except it was. Shoaib finished with 5 wkts.

& at tea time Boonie was there for the start of his charity walk to Hobart, they showed highlights of his career on the big screen.